


Dean's Sober Superbowl Celebration

by cosmic_medusa



Series: We Three Kings [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Balthazar & Castiel (Supernatural) Friendship, Drug Addiction, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Other, Sobriety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 12:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18142106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_medusa/pseuds/cosmic_medusa
Summary: In support of his brother's and friend's sobriety, Dean wants you to get yourself to his house.





	Dean's Sober Superbowl Celebration

_Get your ass to our house on Sunday. We are putting the shit back in sober._  
\--sent from my Blackberry

 

 _I apologize to everyone who received an earlier message that contained offensive words and will never leave my Blackberry unattended near Dean again. Please join us for Super Bowl Sunday. We will have food and non-alcoholic beverages._  
\--sent from my Blackberry

 

 

“What did you do to my sign?” Dean bellowed. Cas winced.

“Would you keep it down?” he hissed.

“It’s ‘Sober as _Shit_ Superbowl’, Cas. Everyone knows and expects it.”

“I don’t think we need that word up on our wall.”

“It’s the _Superbowl!_ Not ‘Alex Trebek’s-lame-ass-trivia-bowl!’”

Cas crossed his arms and pouted. Dean huffed and stomped over to where Cas had flipped the “h” in his sign over to the plain white back. He turned coyly to Cas, put a hand on his hip, and slid faux-sexily against the wall. “What do you think? Do I look like Vanna?”

“My _boss_ will be here. Becky and Ellen and some of Sam’s female friends will be here. It’s _rude_.”

“It’s _football_! It’s manly and grungy and sweaty and sweary!”

“ _Sweary_?”

“I got it!” Sam called, bounding down the stairs. “We’ll put this up.” He held up a printed sheet from the computer, beaming.

“God, no, Sammy! That reminds me of that giant Frankenstein-thing from that Hocus-Pocus flick.”

“It’s called an _emoticon_.” Sam grabbed up the tape and carefully secured his printed face over the white page. “There!”

“Hold on,” Dean grumbled. He grabbed a pen and scribbled “Cas is a prude” in tiny print under Sam’s bizarre printed face. “There. Truce?”

“Truce,” Cas sighed, just as the doorbell rang

“Wait, wait—I have to change my shirt!” Sam bolted past Cas and up the stairs. Cas waited until he was safely out of sight before answering the door. Dean grinned and winked warmly at Cas. Aside from Sam inadvertently waking them around two checking the smoke alarms, the younger man had appeared calm and unaffected by Michael’s visit the night before. It had probably helped that there had been so much setting up and food to serve, so Cas and Dean were able to keep him busy. Neither Sam nor Dean did sitting around very well.

When Cas finally opened the door, Dr. Anna Milton was standing before him. “Hello,” she said, smiling and holding out the tray before her. “I brought a fruit plate. I know you said not to bring anything, but I was always told, growing up, that it was rude not to. So...” she smiled and extended her tray slightly awkwardly.

Cas couldn’t believe it, but he was a bit a tongue-tied. Anna, as Chief of Staff, is his boss. He’d always found her multiple medical degrees, graduation from Johns Hopkins Medical Center, and calm, quiet confidence worthy of his admiration. She was a pillar of certainty and knowledge during the busiest times and to the most hysterical patients, and possessed and amazing, reassuring manner, uncanny intuition, and her rare, but always kind, smiles.

But if it weren’t for that, her red-hair, wide eyes, slim figure, and quiet manner would have been enough for his embarrassing infatuation. Dean liked to tease him, but Cas fluctuated between thinking of her as a sister, a mother, a boss, a friend, and—if he had those feelings toward the fairer sex—a woman he’d potentially want to pursue. She was smart, sharp, and single, and it had been Dean’s damning text that had summoned her to his front porch: he’d never seen her outside the hospital, and never would have asked her on his own.

“Anna,” he managed, smiling. “Please, come in.”

She’s wore a light purple t-shirt under a dark purple sweater. Cas was surprised to see how _young_ she looked, with her hair loose around her shoulders and jeans instead of scrubs, purple in place of her standard labcoat. He can see they aren’t so apart in age after all. And he can’t believe it, but he feels a little like a nervous teenager.

“Dean made the menu,” he said, hoping she’ll accept it as an apology. “It’s good you brought fruit, because he completely neglected nutrition when he made his choices.”

“Wow,” Anna said, staring at the dining room table, which was covered in bowls of chips, three kinds of chicken—barbecue, fried, and grilled—cheeseburgers, grilled cheese, nachos with steak, nachos with chicken, and nachos with guacamole, and a giant bowl of Sam’s non-alcoholic punch, which was Gatorade based and no one really touched but him, though no one had the heart to say so.

“And there’s dessert,” Cas warned. Anna was frowning slightly at the wall.

“Um...seems you had a problem with your sign.”

“Don’t get me started,” Dean said, coming out of the kitchen. “I’m Dean.”

“It’s funny,” Anna said, smiling at Dean. “I’m Anna, by the way. Thank you so much for inviting me. When I was in medical school, everyone made fun of me for loving football.”

“Well sweetheart, welcome to a judgment-free household.” He stopped and stared at the fruit tray. “Holy crap. That’s awesome looking watermelon.”

“I didn’t want to impose, but I felt I should bring something.”

“No worries. Cas will make room.” Cas glared. “Or I could.”

“Your sign?” Anna asked as Dean took the tray from her and circled the table.

“Ask Dr. Doom.”

“I understand the humor,” Cas said. “But it struck me as impolite.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re putting the shit back in sobriety, Dean,” Anna said calmly.

“Thank you, Anna. If you would like to sign my petition to get Cas’ name changed to Lord Cas the Prude, there’s a pen set aside for that purpose.”

“Dean,” Sam scolded, fixing his shirt as he entered the dining room, “quit recruiting. She’s Cas’ _boss_.”

“Anna,” Cas said. “This is Sam. Sam, Anna.”

Anna smiled and shook the younger man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam. Cas has said such good things. I’m so happy you’re doing well.”

“Thank you.” Sam was clearly a bit anxious, but tried to hide it. “He said you went to Johns Hopkins?”

Anna nodded. “Me and four other generations.” She rolled her eyes. “Wanna know a secret? The head of the CDC? Hooked on Ritalin.” Sam’s eyes widened. “And,” she murmured, leaning in, “between you and me? Larry King?” she mimicked drinking. Sam smiled. She winked at him as he saw Dean trying to nudge Anna’s platter on to the table.

“Dude! You got pineapple? And honeydew?”

“Talk to your new BFF,” Dean grumbled. Anna linked arms with the younger Winchester.

“C’mon, Sam. Cas tells me you were interested in law and are thinking about going back for Public Health. Fill me in,” she said, leading him off. Dean crossed his arms and frowned at the table, then at the wall.

“Man, that sign is a testimony to the dysfunctional, abusive attitude you bring to this relationship.”

“One day,” Cas said, “I’m going to learn how to hit you.”

“Bring it,” Dean smirked. “She is... _smoking_.”

“Dean,” Cas hissed.

“You started it. My God. That hair? That waist? That--"

“She’s my _boss_.”

“I’m just trying to be supportive. I shouldn’t have made fun of your crush. She is one hot chick.”

“She has a doctorate from one of the world’s best medical schools and multiple master’s degrees.”

“You’re goddamn right she does.” Cas glanced, embarrassed, toward the living room.

“I’ve never seen her with her hair down,” he admitted quietly, feeling heat in his cheeks. Dean grinned.

“Dude, you’ve seen my boss? Short, fat, bald? And I give him my sweat and blood. If _she_ was running my shifts, I would fall on the floor and come to Christ.”

“Dean, _please_ don’t blaspheme.”

“Your friend Jake’s here,” Sam poked his head around the corner.

“Let him in,” Dean sniped.

“I’m talking to Anna. _You_ let him in.”

“Bitch,” Dean muttered, stalking toward the front door and tossing it open. “Jake, buddy. Happy Superbowl!”

Jake Talley, one of Dean’s protégés as the garage, gave a warm, but small smile as he holds out his own tray. “I brought peanut-butter brownies,” he said.

“And I’m gonna eat them. Come in. This here’s Sam and Anna. And that good-looking, but socially-awkward gent is Cas. Everyone, this is Jake.” The appropriate chorus of ‘hi’ and ‘nice to meet yous’ followed. “C’mon and we’ll stock that in the kitchen. You find it okay?”

Cas nodded and smiled as Jake passed him. Like Dean, Jake had begun working almost daily when he was just sixteen. Unlike Dean, he hadn’t dropped out of high school, but had graduated with highest honors on, he admitted, very little sleep. His father had been killed by a drunk driver when Jake was eleven, and, as a result, Jake had never even _tried_ anything alcoholic. Dean had taken the younger man under his wing because, like Dean, Jake had half-raised his younger sibling—his sister, Maggie—and taken the lead on the family finances. Although, unlike Dean, Jake’s mother hadn’t died, but had suffered from breast cancer: though, even with the loss of her husband and her illness, she had struggled to stay as involved as physically possible in her children’s lives.

She’d recovered. But the family had been left in massive debt, and Jake and Maggie, unfortunately, with two parents who never intended to be absent, but had been forced into it regardless.

Cas was amazed that Jake has stepped away from his family to join their little group. He was relieved as well. Jake, like Dean, had had to take on far too much, far too young. And even if he did it out of duty and love and genuine devotion, he still deserved to have some fun at his young age.

“This here’s Sam and Anna,” Dean said, and paused long enough for their ‘hellos’ “and you remember Cas.”

“It’s good to see you again, Jake,” he said with a smile. “I hope your family’s well.”

“I told them they were invited, but they _hate_ football. They’ve been hooked on some series about wedding dresses on TLC and there’s a marathon on today. Be glad Sam’s not short for Samantha, because Maggie’s goin’ to clean me and Mama _out_ on the big day. She’s already picking out six-hundred dollar prom dresses.” Jake chuckled. “We need to find her a rich man, or we’re going to be re-re- _re_ -mortgaging the house.”

Cas grinned, but he felt his stomach clench. Half of him wanted to do what had been his initial instinct with Dean—rush in and heal the young man’s problems with his trust-fund. The other half recognized that Dean and Jake and even Sam saw this as insulting, since they’d managed for so long on their own. And with money they’d _earned,_ not inherited.

Michael was right in his instincts that Cas would use the family fortune for good. What he was wrong was believing he’d discriminate to the Morgan standards of giving: —“If you can’t name at town, name a university. If you can’t name a university, name a wing. If you can’t name a wing, sponsor a gala. If you can’t sponsor a gala, don’t give a cent.”

“Um...Cas?” Anna called.

“Andy’s here!” Sam said cheerfully. Cas grinned as Sam stepped out onto the porch and waved and Anna took in the side of Andy’s van, painted with a giant polar bear and warrior queen in tight, leather clothing.

“I assume that is one of Sam’s 'reformed' friends?” she asked.

“Watch. It’s a clown-car of the reformed.”

The side of Andy’s ridiculous van rolled opened, and Sam’s friends spilled out. Andy, the driver, and his closest friend from rehab: Lily, a girl who was a bit too serious and _dark_ for Cas’ liking, but both Sam and Dean seemed empathic toward: Ash, the half-way house leader, and a guy Cas and Dean weren’t entirely convinced was clean: Max, a pale, slim, and very quiet young man who was incessantly invited to events by Andy: and Ruby, who Dean _hated_.

“I don’t like her,” Dean had said, immediately after Sam had first introduced them at Rosemount.

“Why not?” Cas had asked dutifully.

“She’s an addict.”

“So’s Sam.”

Dean had glared. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“It’s _Sam_.”

Cas had sighed. “Dean, you know I’d admire your devotion, but you need to realize the rest of the world doesn’t operate under the ‘It’s Sam’ Principle.”

“Sammy never sold,” Dean counteracted.

“She _sold_ while she was _high_.”

“She sold, _period_. None of Sammy’s other friends have done that. _Sammy_ never even _considered_ doing that.”

Cas had left it alone.

Ash was, characteristically, the first in the door. “Hey all you sober superbowlers!” he grinned and bounded across the short distance to Sam. “Sam, bro, bring it in!” he said, and gave him a quick, hard, one-armed hug, as if it had been weeks or months since they’d seen each other, instead of barely forty-eight hours. “Now you!” he repeated, and squeezed Cas, then Dean. “And I don’t know you,” he said to Anna and Jake, “but we’re all siblings in sobriety so bring it in!”

Sam shook his head. Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly. The first time they’d met Ash, he’d been interviewing Sam to see if he fit in with the halfway house he oversaw. He had been to treatment several times and finally gave up drugs and alcohol for good after, what he called, “the not-so-sober-streaking-offense,” which he claimed could have been an international incident.

“Just remember,” Ash had been telling Sam, “when you walk out those doors, you’re walking into a world of triggers. Left, right, stress—bang!—bills—bang!—laundry—bang! But me and the guys, we will be there. And when worse comes to worse,” he held up his finger in a “one second” gesture, turned, took a flying leap, and landed with his feet on the wall, upside down, grinning from his fake-headstand, “just look at the world from a new point of view!”

Cas and the Winchesters had stared at him. Then Alan had come around the corner and barked “Ash, get the hell off my ward.”

“Dr. Al!” Ash hit the floor, righting himself. “Bring it in!”

“Get out of here. I’ve told you before. If it’s not relaxation therapy, don’t you go doing flips on my walls.”

“I’m giving a pep-talk to my newest Alpha-Omega!”

“Five seconds.” Alan had said. “Four...”

Ash had saluted them all on his way out.

Cas had to admit, since then, the man’s antics had grown on him. He certainly always made Sam smile.

“Ash,” Ruby said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “These are strangers. Let’s take it down juuuust a notch.” She smiled and held out her hand to Anna. “Ruby.”

“Anna.”

“Nice to meet you. This is Lily,” she said, holding out her arm to ease the way for the thin, pale girl, while her eyes flicked toward Dean. “Thank you for the invitation, Dean.”

“Lord knows it wouldn’t be the same without you,” Dean goaded.

“Ruby,” Cas said quickly. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m getting the door!” Andy bellowed and opened it for Bobby and Ellen Singer.

“Whose stupid-ass van is out there?” Bobby grunted.

“You don’t like Polar Princess?” Andy asked.

“You’re half on the curb, idgit.”

“Really?” he frowned out toward the driveway. “Back in a jif!” he called. Ellen lay a hand on Bobby’s arm and made her way toward Dean and Cas.

“Hi boys,” she said, giving them both a quick hug, and Sam a light kiss on the cheek. “I made you a Texas casserole. Not for the party—just for you.” She took the flowered dish from Bobby and held it out.

“Ellen, if you ever want a divorce from Scrooge over here, I’ll take you Vegas,” Dean said, and carried the dish into the kitchen like it was a cherished infant.

Bobby owned a scrap and autobody shop that had frequently partnered with Dean’s garage. He’d met—and vehemently disliked—John Winchester in the early days, but he’d gone out of his way to befriend Dean once rumors began to circulate about the struggles the boys had had.

“I know you don’t want to encourage his beef and cheese fetish,” Ellen said to Cas, “but there are plenty of vegetables in there. Seems he hasn’t noticed yet.”

“Just don’t tell him,” Sam whispered. “Or he won’t touch it.”

“Lips are as sealed as your little friend over there,” she said, eyeing the sign. Bobby took off toward the chicken and frowned at the punch.

“Cas!”

From across the room, he hears the merry sound of Peter Balthazar, an English Pediatrician with an attitude as overblown as his last name. By admission, Dr. Balthazar was a “dedicated, heartfelt, hedonist.” He was notoriously terrible with paperwork, had a reputation that denied him entry both America’s and Britain’s greatest hospitals, yet was unmatchable when it came to adoration of the children he oversaw. He was brilliant, and he knew it, and he naturally assumed everyone else did too. Most of the doctors disliked him, but all his patients—and all their mothers—adored him, and Cas couldn’t help but like him as well. He reminded him of his brother Gabe.

“Now that I have arrived, the party may officially begin,” he said, and gave Cas a quick, rough embrace. “Boss,” he said, making a mock-bow to Anna.

“Doctor,” she said politely.

“How marvelous we were both able to join the festivities!”

“Perfect.”

“You know, we are off duty. You can remove that pole up your—”

“Peter come meet Dean,” Cas said, ushering his friend away.

“What? She’s not our boss _now_. You need to—”

“Dean, this is Peter Balthazar. Peter, Dean.”

“So _this_ is the man you left your millions for.” Cas flushed. The doctor eyed him up and down. “Now, I don’t swing that way myself, mind you, but I one-hundred percent approve.”

“Don’t objectify me,” Dean snapped.

“This here’s the kitchen!” Cas said, half shoving his fellow doctor into the back of the house.

“What?” his friend snapped.

“ _Please_ be on good behavior.”

“Are you kidding? I’m a saint!”

“Believe it or not, a lot of the people out there are very fragile emotionally. I understand it’s not in your nature to be sensitive to adults, but I know there’s a reason all your patients love you. Please, try and think of those men and women as _children_. Just for a bit?”

The other doctor gave a long-suffering sigh. “ _Fine_. Far be it for me to try and make anyone laugh at themselves.”

“ _Here_ , it is. Please.”

“Very well. Are we all here?”

“All but two.”

He spoke of Becky and Chuck. Cas and Dean had actually met the couple at an Al-Anon meeting. Becky had sat sobbing, pleading with the group to make her boyfriend realize that he needed help—not a typical function of Al-Anon, which was there to support struggling families of alcoholics. The group-leader had been trying to explain about Alcoholics Anonymous and various intervention programs when Chuck had swayed and managed “don’t...need...help...” before falling forward and passing out on the floor.

He’d gone into alcohol rehabilitation the next day.

Chuck didn’t quite fit Dean’s little jingle of “three learned doctors”—Anna, Peter, and Cas—“four sober grease-monkeys”—Dean, Ellen, Jake, and Bobby—“five struggling narcotic fiends”—Ruby, Max, Lily, Andy and Ash. He was a freelance writer who’d published a series of fantasy/sci-fi novels that had an apparent cult following, but he’d confessed to not remember writing most of due to drinking. Becky was an ex-cheerleader type who struck Cas as overbearing and under-loved, but who seemed to be a good match for Chuck’s frequently withdrawn personality.

When the doorbell rang, Cas cocked an eyebrow, and Peter made the sign of the cross on himself.

“Saintly, mate,” he re-iterated.

Becky and Chuck were in the livingroom, completing the group. “Hi guys,” Becky said, ever chipper. “Dean, _Sam_.” Her eyes lit up a bit. It was generally agreed that Becky had an unspoken crush on the younger Winchester, one Sam completely denied and seemed uncomfortable with the idea of. After Jess and Madison, it was clear Sam’s head wasn’t anywhere _near_ the dating game, which was a secret relief to Dean and Cas. Sam had enough on his plate without having to worry about women, and they dreaded him becoming involved with one of the girls in rehab—an act vehemently opposed, and often expressly _forbidden_ , in Sam’s groups. The younger Winchester needed to look out for himself for a good long while before he could approach a relationship from a healthy perspective.

“Alright!” Dean bellowed. “Now that we’re all here, here’s the sole rule of Sober Superbowl—other than the obvious. We’ve got ex-alcoholics, ex-junkies, and healthy, balanced individuals who enjoy a glass of wine. So, rule is, no one is allowed to sit next to someone of their own vice. We’re gonna mingle, damnit. And everyone has to eat their way through this table because I don’t have enough Gladware to pack it all up. Have at it, friends and mates,” Dean declared. Ash, Chuck, Andy, and Sam applauded. The rest took the lead. Bobby, who already had a full plate in hand, rolled his eyes and strolled into the living room, demanding a center-seat on the sofa.

 

***

At the announcer’s shout of “TOUCHDOOOOWN!” Ash did a flying backwards leap off the staircase, caught one leg on the banister and one on Bobby, and ended up bringing down Bobby, Ruby, and Jake. Cas, Sam, and Anna raced to help the fallen while the rest of the room roared with laughter.

“You goddamned sonofa—” Bobby was shouting and swearing and kicking his way out from under Ash. Ruby was shaking her head and grasped Sam’s arm as she got to her feet. Andy was flat on his back and laughing so hard tears slid down his cheeks.

“We should have taped that,” he nearly sobbed. “You...” he couldn’t get anything further out.

Bobby got to his feet and grumbled and grunted his way to the dining room, where he helped himself to a glass of Sam’s punch. The living room was small—half the party had to sit on the floor—and in full view of the dining room, and judging by Bobby’s smirk, he couldn’t be _that_ annoyed.

“Are you hurt?” Cas asked seriously, following the elder man.

“I’ve taken worse than that, kid.” He took a gulp of punch. “This swill is shit, by the way.”

“Shut it,” Dean hissed, slinging a heavy arm around Cas. “Sammy made it.”

“I don’t _care_. It’s flavored in all the wrong places.”

“He usually drinks enough of it that it appears we’re drinking it with him,” Cas admitted, eyeing the still-full bowl and various filled half-filled cups.

“So what, narcotics alter your taste buds?”

Dean stiffened against Cas’ side. “Anyone who’s had that many bio-altering substances in their system can expect significant alterations to all parts of their chemistry, mental and physical.”

It wasn’t just a reiterated answer: Dean’s word were challenging. Bobby nodded and took another sip.

“Well...it ain’t the _worst_ I’ve ever had.”

“Bobby Singer,” Ellen said, slipping an affectionate arm around his waist, “don’t you tuck-tail and run because some red-neck took you down.”

“That sonofabitch don’t _deserve_ to call himself no redneck.”

“Dude...I am _so_ sorry,” Ash gasped, rushing in. “I swear, when I got ready to take that flip, it was like the world opened up. All I could see was green.”

“Hear that?” Dean smirked. “My carpet choice was so damn awesome, he missed the two-hundred pounds of red-flannel hillbilly six inches away.”

“Hillbilly?” Bobby roared.

“Six inches?” Ash gasped.

“Two-hundred pounds?” Ellen scoffed.

“Awesome carpet?” Cas moaned. When they’d bought the house, the floors had been covered in a long-outdated and worn through red. Cas had wanted something bright and neutral. Dean had wanted something resembling Astroturf.

“Does anyone want punch?” Sam called, and the party in the dining room winced at the lackluster response.

***

At halftime, everyone gathered for seconds or thirds around the table. Cas ducked into the kitchen to check his Blackberry. There were a few random news alerts, two spam messages, and a text from his brother Gabe, which briefly reignited his anxiety over Michael’s disastrous visit until he opened the letter and read

**BRO!!!!??;;Iiil!lk   im at thebarsuperbowllllll!!!!!;;; seeto to ty tu tochdwn??!%%% sssspaaank!!;;;**

Cas smiled to himself and typed “Happy Superbowl. Drink water.” in response.

Andy had somehow befriended Balthazar, which briefly made Cas worry when he overheard Peter saying “I can’t believe you’re still breathing” and Andy said “that’s nothing. One night I mixed—”

He’d chosen to walk away.  
  
Anna was engaged in a quiet, apparently serious conversation with Jake, who seemed to share her wide, serious eyes and kind, but sober manner. Ellen had been trying to engage Lily, and seemed to have her smiling. Ash was regaling Bobby Singer with some escapade or another, while Max tilted his head and listened in.

Ruby was out on the porch smoking a cigarette with Chuck. Becky was chatting up Dean. And Sam was...missing.

Cas checked the backsteps, then headed up to the second floor. He knocked quickly on the guestroom door before opening, finding Sam sitting on his bed, hands rubbing anxiously over his jeans.

“Hey,” Cas murmured. “You okay?”

Sam just looked at him with his wide, damp eyes. Cas shut the door and crossed the room to sit beside him. “What is it?”

“Just...Maddie and...Jess were so good at these things.” He swallowed, hard. “Dean too. He puts on his ‘cool kid’ mask and everyone talks to him.”

“Most of the people are down there because you’re their friend,” Cas gently reminded him.

“A few years ago...I wouldn’t have been one of the alcoholics or junkies, Cas. I would have been one of the good kids. Like Jake. Maybe even like Anna or Peter or _you_.”

Cas winced. He hadn’t thought Dean’s determination to single everyone out by vice had been a good idea.

“You know where I come from. You met it last night,” he said. “Anna and Peter come from the same. Our vice is working. We throw ourselves into studying and climbing the ladder and obeying the higher-ups—well, maybe not Balthazzar, but certainly Anna and me—and not looking for a life outside of it.” He smiled. “For the record, I thought Dean’ efforts to get everyone out of their comfort zone wasn’t such a good idea.”

Sam’s head jerked up. “Are you kidding? Andy chatting up your doctor friend? Ash talking to Bobby? I can’t wait to hear the recap, from both sides. And who knows, maybe Ellen will get some life into Lily. Even Missouri says she’s a pessimist, and you know what _that_ means, considering who she deals with day-to-day.” He smiled then. “Missouri will be really happy he did that, actually. It falls in with her whole ‘acknowledge what you are without shame’ deal.”

“Your brother certainly doesn’t possess a bone of shame in his body.”

Sam shook his head fondly. “Nope.”

“My brothers wouldn’t throw a party encouraging my sobriety.”

“I gathered that.” The younger Winchester’s look softened. “I’m sorry if I made things harder for you last night.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Dean and I talked, and we want you to know that we will always consider you family. If you wanted to move back East, we’d never stand in your way.”

“I know.” Cas nudged him affectionately. “But I don’t. I want what I have right here.”

Sam snorted. “You do know you’re way too good for my brother, right?”

“Absolutely.”

A knock on the door followed their shared laugh. Dean poked his head in. “Yo! You two are co-hosts, remember?” he frowned at his brother. “Sammy? You good?”

Sam glanced at Cas, then nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Well c’mon. Two minutes to kick off.” He held the door aside, placing a reassuring hand on Sam’s back as he passed through the door. “S’alright. You just take it easy and stick with me,” he murmured. Cas headed down the stairs, allowing the brothers a moment.

If Michael hadn’t been here the night before, Cas had no doubt that Sam’s nerves would be more steady. The eldest Morgan brother had thrown them all for a loop—Cas included. But when he landed in the living room and saw so many warm, smiling faces, he couldn’t help but grin back.

“They’re on the thirty, bro!” Ash called. “Where’s Sam?”

“We’re here,” Sam said, smiling as he emerged from upstairs. “Everyone good?”

Dean’s smile warmed as the whole room echoed an enthusiastic reply.

***

Dean, Cas, Sam, Ellen, Ruby, and Jake swept away the table and replaced Dean’s ‘lunch’ with the desserts in the kitchen. Cas and Sam made coffee while Ellen and Ruby gathered the trash and Dean placed leftovers in containers, dishes in the sink, and bellowed orders everyone ignored.

“Why did no one eat the steak? Someone start the dishwasher! Where’s the extra round holder thing? Cas, get the plastic silverware stuff! Sammy, did you wipe down the fake-tablecloth? Who put the milk behind the Gatorade!”

“How in the hell do you put up with that?” Ellen finally asked Sam.

“Ignore him,” Sam murmured, wiping down the plastic football themed tablecloth he’d bought for the occasion. “I could finish all my homework and chores in the time he stood around lecturing me about getting them done.”

“He’s a good guy and all,” Ruby said, watching Sam carefully, “but I can see how you might feel smothered.”

Sam’s eyes snapped up to hers. Cas and Ellen tensed, all too aware she seemed to be treading on something from a group—something confidential. “What do you mean?” Sam demanded.

Ruby scoffed. “C’mon, Sam. He talks to you like a little kid. Asks if you had enough to eat, got enough to drink, need a sweatshirt. You were upstairs for ten minutes and he followed you.”

Sam’s eyes locked in, hard, on hers. “He practically _raised_ me,” he snapped. “He and Cas let me undergo my second withdrawal in their _livingroom_. And after the hell I dragged him through, I’m lucky he’s worrying if I’m alright instead of buying a wall safe and checking my pockets when I go to leave, like _most_ of our friends.”

“I’m just saying he should trust you more. He should recognize and support your _in_ dependence, not enable an ongoing _de_ pendenceon him and _his_ way of doing things.”

Ellen’s eyes darted to meet Cas’, then back to the younger woman. “I think Sam appreciates you looking out for him,” Ellen said firmly, “but you gotta let these boys work themselves out. These things take time.”

Ruby kept her eyes focused on Sam. “Whatever.” She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and headed off into the kitchen with an overly chipper-chirp of “can I help?” to Dean. Sam looked from her to Cas, baffled.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, honey.” Ellen smiled warmly. “Neither did Dean. I notice she didn’t mention you brought Dean a third plate of nachos, despite Cas here saying it was enabling.”

The confusion and Sam’s face cleared a bit and he chuckled. “That’s because he ate three ‘test batches’ before everyone got here.”

“ _And_ second helpings of everything else on the table,” Cas reminded them. “He’s probably in there ‘testing’ the desserts as we speak.”

“I’ll never understand how he stays so...” Ellen seemed to roll the word around, “...sexy.”

“Ellen, you’re a _cougar_!” Sam beamed. The older woman winked at Cas, and he felt himself relax. He really liked Ellen and Bobby. They’d been exceptionally understanding, and he and the Winchesters both felt a bit of a pseudo-parental attachment to the couple. Ellen, who’d never had children of her own, appeared to reciprocate. Bobby tended to grunt and growl a little less, which, in their book, was a win.

Becky came stomping into the dining room, Chuck scrambling behind her. “Please, do we have to do this here?”

“If you loved me half as much as you love that stupid game, I would be a mother by now!”

“It’s the _Superbowl_.”

“No, it _not_ just the Superbowl! It’s me having to beg and plead for a little attention, a little _affection_! Sam,” she turned to him, wide-eyed, and rushed forward to clutch his shirt. “Tell the truth. When you love a woman, do you forsake her for friends and football?”

Sam held his hands away from her and turned to Cas.

‘Help,’ he mouthed. Cas tried hard not to laugh.

“Becky—” Chuck began.

“If you love a woman, Sam, so much that you talk about putting a ring on her finger, don’t you want to make sure she _stays_ in love with you? Don’t you want her to know that she’s the center of your universe?”

“Um...Becky...”

“Don’t you want to be _close_ to her!” Becky ran her hands up Sam’s shirt. Chuck began picking up cups of half-drunken punch and downing them in rapid succession.

“Yo!” Dean bellowed, coming out from the kitchen with a stack of paper plates. “Becky, quit molesting my brother. Chuck, quit pretending that punch is shots.”

Becky let go of Sam and whirled on Chuck. “You _see_ ,” she screamed. “If you loved me as much as you loved booze, I’d be a mother by now! I’d have had a wedding. I’d have a ring and—”

Chuck dropped his cup, whirled around, grabbed Becky by the arms, and pushed her to the wall. She stared at him, chin wobbling. “It’s me and you, Becky-Sue,” he whispered.

She flung her skinny arms around his neck as he slammed his mouth against hers. Dean’s eyes went wide. Sam reached out and grabbed Cas’ sleeve in terror.

“Oh,” she moaned. Chuck grunted against her, pulling her close. “Oh, lover, _lover_...let’s go upstairs,” she gasped.

“No!” Dean, Sam, and Cas shouted.

“Bathroom—”

“No!”

“Car—car—get the keys!” Chuck reached behind him, smacking uselessly on the table.

“I thought—you had them—” he managed, and Becky shoved him away, hard.

“You _lost the keys again_!” she shrieked.

“I’ll look—I’m sure I have them—”

“You never lost things when you were drinking. Now it’s one thing after another! It’s like if you’re not thinking about how you’ll get booze you—”

“Got ‘em!” Chuck pulled a key ring out of his pocket.

“Oh! You remembered!” she flung herself forward, kissing him furiously again. “Let’s go,” she whispered, grabbing his hand and half dragging him through the living room and out the door.

Everyone stood silently watching.

“Well,” Balthazar finally broke the silence, “I don’t mind saying that that was easily _the_ most disturbing thing I have ever witnessed.”

“There aren’t enough shrinks and psychotropic meds in the _world_ to fix that chick,” Ash said, leaning over the back of the sofa to watch the couple on the street.

“I don’t want to enable or get y’all mad...but for the first time in my life, I understand why a man would drink,” Jake declared.

Cas held his breath, but was relieved to see the room laugh. Even Max and Lily smiled. Bobby came stomping in from the front yard, where he’d stepped out to smoke, and looked around at the group in disbelief.

“What the hell kind of Jerry Springer freak-fest are you running here?” he bellowed. “First Evel Knievel almost breaks my neck, now Bonnie and Clyde are gonna try and get it on in a friggin’ Dodge Neon?”

“Sam, Dean, Cas...I need sugar,” Anna said.

“I see and raise that to two,” Lily admitted.

“You heard the ladies,” Balthazar barked. “Game on, boys.”

Everyone quickly gathered around the table once more. Dean brought out the rest of the treats from the kitchen—cookies, a cake, some tart-thing Sam had insisted on, brownies, and Jake’s peanut-butter brownies. Cas headed into the kitchen for milk and sugar for coffee and returned to find Anna singing the praises of Jake’s cooking.

“You made these?” she asked.

“No way,” he chuckled. “Maggie, my little sister, and my Mom did. Maggie’s on a baking kick, Mama doesn’t trust her alone in the kitchen, and I know they both wanted the TV to themselves without having to feel guilty about it.”

“They’re _amazing_.” She sighed. “I wish I knew how to cook or bake. Or had the time to learn.”

“You know what I live on?” Andy asked. “Ramen, Mac and Cheese, and Cocoa Puffs. And Campbell’s soup. It’s almost like cooking, kinda.”

“Growing up, we had a chef,” Anna admitted. “I used to sneak into the kitchen and watch him work. He started to teach me a few things, but then my parents found out and didn’t like it. They wanted me to ride horses. I _hate_ horses.”

“At least your parents didn’t forget to pay the electric bill. Or kick you out of the house for sleeping with girls,” Lily muttered. Anna blushed and shifted her feet, looking, for once, uncomfortable. Cas had never seen her look anything but confident.

“We had a chef,” he said quickly. “And wait-staff. When I was a kid, I pictured this giant room of huge men that made food for the whole world. Or at least all of fifth avenue.” Anna looked up at him and smiled, relieved. “When I was six I saved up all my money and bought my mother a pint of Ben and Jerry’s for Mother’s Day. But I put it in the refrigerator and it melted. I didn’t know the difference between a refrigerator and a freezer, because I’d never seen the inside of one.”

“What’d your mother say?” Ellen asked.

“She didn’t like ice cream.”

“Alright...enough. We’re sober, not dead,” Balthazar said, grabbing his coffee mug and raising it high. “ _I_ want to propose a toast. Now I know this is normally the host’s job but, as a Brit, and therefore the natural ruler over the rest of you rebellious little—” he was drowned out by boos. Anna shook her head.

“Let the record show!” she called. “I voted _against_ hiring him.” The room cheered. Balthazar rolled his eyes.

“I just want to say...as a guest in this great nation, and in this wonderful household—though I by no means live my life by the principles of sobriety, I’m proud to have enlightened all of you with my presence. And Sam, your punch is terrible. People drink it because you like it and they love you. And that alone speaks to the quality of this group.” He held out his glass. “I raise this in a toast to the courage of all of you who have made your way back from some very nasty places, and, I thank God, the Queen, and your Commander-in-Chief, that you allow the rest of us to celebrate your sobriety here today.”

“We’re back!” Becky called, bounding in the front door, a flushed and grinning Chuck clutching her hand. “We miss anything?”

“I was just saying,” the Brit said, “that I am happy to be among you sober shit-heads today, look forward to calling you all friends tomorrow, and personally wish to toast Lily and her gang, because without lesbians, my life wouldn’t be worth living, my money would go unspent, and the internet would be significantly underdeveloped.” The room cheered, even as Lily glowered. “In all seriousness, yet again...I raise a glass to your health, wealth, and future happiness. You are all a testimony that sobriety need not be shit.”

The room gave a collective cheer and clinked coffee mugs and punch cups—Dean, Ellen, and Jake had snatched up cups as soon as Peter had declared it terrible, and were singing its praises to Sam. Cas thought of Michael. He thought of Lou and Ralph and his parents. He thought of Gabriel in the bars. And, though he missed them, and would always miss them, he couldn’t bring himself to want to be anywhere else in the whole wide world, no matter easy it would be to get the ticket, first class.

 

 


End file.
